


The swords, the coin, the bed where you sleep

by beng



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: But you'd have to squint really hard to call it love, Dust Town, Gen, Natia and Leske had some issues, Secrets, They're too brutish for that, Treachery, really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:39:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beng/pseuds/beng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that expensive to buy a duster who has nowhere else to go. Natia should have remembered that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The swords, the coin, the bed where you sleep

_Leske? How could you do this?_

_What was I supposed to do? You were gone and Jarvia's pulling the strings. Not all of us got your opportunities._

Seeing Leske at Jarvia's side, something had snapped in Natia, and she had had an impulse to vomit. So her partner had sold himself to Jarvia? Well, of course. He was a duster, and survival was his sole religion. Too much sun on her brain indeed; and in her head, her heart, her soul, she screamed like a banshee bleeding to death.

She didn't remember the fight — it was all hazy, with only a few moments engraved in crystal clarity. It was probably Zevran who got her moving and dragged her out on the street. She was numb and blind.

He and Alistair half carried her back to their rooms in the inn where they were staying, watching Natia with increasing worry as they helped her lie down on the bed.

“She must be wounded. Did you see if she's injured, Zevran? Maybe we shouldn't have moved her, I've heard that in some cases a person should be left still until a doctor comes, but where in the Void do we find a doctor in this town?”

“Brosca! Look at me, beautiful. Are you hurt? Should I get the witch?”

Natia mutely shook her head. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“I'm alright. Just give me a moment,” she muttered and tried to pull herself together. That traitor didn't deserve her breakdown.

“Natia, are you sure you don't need anything? Healing, salves, a check-up with Morrigan?”

“A friendly back rub?”

“Out. Please.”

 

Hearing the door click shut she curled up on her side and drew the blanket over her head. She wanted to dissolve, to disappear, to turn to stone and never feel again. No tears came — only the silent screams in her head tearing at her from the inside, lacerating her until nothing would remain of her memory; screams that insisted that Leske was a traitor, Leske was sleeping with Jarvia, Leske was dead: lying in a pool of blood, his arm crushed by Alistair's shield and white bone visible through the red muscles, red foam on his last gargling breath, and red blood splattered across his killer's face.

And yet it was only to be expected. She should have known there was a bleak future waiting for him in Dust Town, but she had only thought about Rica. It had never occurred to her that she was abandoning her only friend to a choice that wasn't any real choice at all: either Carta, or death. And how could she have been so foolish as to not notice his distress, the small clues he had been giving her? She could have protected him, taken him away from Orzammar, helped him start a new life topsides, same as she had intended for her mother and sister.

With Leske's death it suddenly hit her how utterly alone she was. Nobody of those she loved would follow her now, not with Rica living in the palace, caring for King Bhelen's child. And Natia herself would be the knife cutting these ties, same as she was the one abandoning Leske to his fate.

She shouldn't take all the blame — that much she understood even in her heartache. Until the very last moment when he crashed on the floor and Alistair stabbed him through his chestpiece, Natia had hoped he would give up. She had trusted him to the end, even when all evidence had been against him, while he... While he hadn't trusted her enough to let her save him...

 

A few hours later the door creaked open, and Zevran appeared with a plate of food. Natia was still lying curled on her side.

“Rise and shine, boss. The talk about Carta's impressive demise has been circulating the town and our dearest prince will soon start asking questions.”

Right. Straighten up and soldier on, Natia sighed and rose from the bed, hair mussed and clothes crumpled; a nasty taste in her mouth. The quicker she'll be out of Orzammar, the better, preferably with Bhelen on the throne and Rica by his side. But she couldn't bring herself to care. She was sick and tired of these power games, of selling out and _surviving_. As far as she was concerned, her mother was a drunk, her sister was a whore, and her best friend was a traitor, and a whore too.

The quicker she gets out, the better. And then she'll figure out a new strategy for life.

**Author's Note:**

> A black little breaking point for my one true Warden. Was going through my DA scraps and thought this looked more or less publishable.


End file.
